Pity Ham
by consuelas revenge
Summary: "I don't want your pity, Benson. Just your ham." Sam has a problem and Freddie cares more than he thought he would.
1. hallway

**Hey hey hey, welcome to my first iCarly story. Deals with some semi-serious stuff, but isn't really heavy on the angst. I go for more light hearted, friendshippy stuff. yeahhh seddie!**

**Enjoy!**

**I don't own iCarly.**

* * *

As yet another streak of lightning lit up 16-year-old Freddie Benson's bedroom, the said teenage boy sighed and rolled over for about the thirtieth time that night. Groaning, he lifted his head off the pillow to check his clock _again_—2:07 AM. A whopping 9 minutes since he had last checked. He let out a frustrated grunt and let his head drop hopelessly back into his pillow. For some reason, the tech-savvy teen just couldn't find the power to drift off to sleep on this particularly stormy Saturday night.

Of course, there was a small reason, although Freddie would never admit it; thunder storms simply rubbed him the wrong way. For one thing, they put his already neurotic mother extremely on edge. It had been storming all day, and as always, Mrs. Benson had not allowed him near any windows or metals ("You'll get electrocuted!"), so he was forced to give up any and all technology while in his own house. Luckily he was able to travel across the hall long enough to at least do the iCarly for the week, after promising his mom that he would wear rubber gloves as an "insulator" while holding the camera. Unfortunately, the rubber gloves came with a lot of heat from Sam, but had he really expected any different?

Freddie heaved a sigh and kicked off his comforter, thinking about his blonde friend. They really, definitely were friends now, he decided. Over the past couple of years, Sam had grown from his sworn enemy to one of his two best friends, the other being Carly of course. Sure, she still made fun of him a little—okay, _a lot_—but as he had said before on a… certain night, it would be way too weird if she didn't.

Realizing his thoughts had been dwelling on Sam, the brunette boy blinked and glanced at the clock. 2:11. Man, he really needed to stop checking. A clap of thunder shook his entire bedroom and Freddie shoved his face deeper into his pillow before he could be blinded by the inevitable lightning.

A muffled pounding noise suddenly reached his ears. Freddie's eyes shot open and he sat up, listening. The pounding noise came again, only louder. Thunder? No, couldn't be, it was too dulled. He listened harder, feeling his heart begin to race when he finally deduced that the noise was coming from someone pounding on a door out in the hallway. It wasn't loud enough to be coming from his front door, so it must be someone trying to get into Carly's.

Freddie felt his skin prickle. Who would be wailing on Carly's front door at 2:15 in the morning? The only person that came to mind was Sam, but she had gone home after the post-iCarly snack, and he figured even Sam wasn't crazy enough to brave this terrible weather.

The pounding noise stopped as suddenly as it had started, and Freddie held his breath and laid still. Whoever had been knocking was probably still there. The startled teen pondered for a moment, then came to a conclusion: he would silently tiptoe over to the peephole and see who it was. Not too hard… right.

Fighting off the urge to pull his comforter up to his chin and stay in that position permanently, Freddie quietly swung his legs over the edge of his bed and stood up, wincing as a particularly squeaky floorboard betrayed his position. He stood still for a bit and when he was \safely engulfed in silence again, the determined brunette began making his way over to his front door. While he was nearing the familiar peephole (although he had finally quit spying on Carly through it over a year ago), a different, softer noise reached his ears. Sniffling…_crying_. Freddie's eyebrows darted upwards and he quietly pressed his ear against the door—yup, whoever was out there was definitely crying. Throwing caution to the wind, he lifted his eye to the peephole and peered through.

At first glance he didn't see anyone, but something towards the bottom of Carly's front door caught his eye and he looked at it clearer. A mass of soaked blonde hair… an equally soaked hoodie… a small build… _Sam_.

He couldn't see her face; her head was down and her arms were hugging her knees, with her stringy wet hair covering everything. But he knew it was her. Freddie's heart sped up as he processed the image. Sam Puckett, the girl who was capable of causing him immeasurable pain, was sitting in the 8th floor hallway of Bushwell alone, curled up in a little ball, _crying_.

Tons of questions started flooding into his head, the first and foremost being _what the heck happened?_

Freddie went with his first instinct and he reached for the doorknob. Taking a silent breath, he slowly turned it and opened the door, suddenly grateful that he wasn't wearing the stupid onesie that his mom had tried to force on him earlier. His bare feet felt cold as he stepped out into the hallway and shut the door behind him, turning on the pitiful form that was his best friend. She had stopped whimpering as soon as the sound of the opening door reached her ears, but she didn't look up. The silence unnerved him.

He took a tentative step forward.

"Um… Sam?"

Nothing. The immovable Puckett only kept hugging her knees, her usually confident facial features remaining hidden. Freddie suddenly had the unexplainable urge to see her face; sitting down next to her, he cautiously reached out and put a light hand on her soaked sweatshirt. He resolved to give it another try.

"Sam? Sam, what happened?"

"What do you want, Fredwad." Hearing her voice almost made him jump; it wasn't the normal Sam voice, it was small and…broken sounding. An anxious feeling overtook Freddie, and he became very aware of his hand on her back. He swallowed—she still hadn't budged from her semi-fetal position. Just as he opened his mouth to respond, Sam spoke again.

"It was a rhetorical question, nub. Just… leave me alone." Her voice was dull and lifeless and it was really weirding Freddie out. The braver side of the boy came to the surface and he decided he wasn't leaving without some answers.

"Sam, it's like 2:30 in the morning. What are you doing out here? What's wrong?"

She shrugged his hand off. "Go away Freddork."

Freddie felt a tinge of annoyance as he pulled his hand back. Well _excuse_ him for caring about his friend. However, as little annoyed as he was, the worried feeling in his stomach overcame it. Had he really expected Sam to open up so easily to him anyway? Still, he wasn't leaving without some answers. He scooted a little closer to her as if to purposely defy her command for him to go away; she shifted her downcast head in his direction a little but otherwise did nothing. Freddie decided to go for an even softer approach.

"C'mon Sam, you know I'm not going anywhere. I'm your friend. Just… tell me what you're doing out here. Please?" The question lingered for a few very long seconds, and Freddie felt his shoulders slump. Apparently playing the friend card was not going to work.

"Why do you think?" A muffled voice finally rang out from the soaking lump that was Sam Puckett. "I'm out here because Carly and Spencer are extremely heavy sleepers..."

"I can't hear you when you talk into your knees. Can't you lift your head up and talk to me face?"

The only response he got was an irritated grumble. He poked her shoulder lightly. "_Sam._"

Blonde hair flipped backwards and he was suddenly met with a pair of angry blue eyes as she stared him down. Freddie's eyes widened and the worried feeling in his stomach exploded. "I said I'm only stuck out here because nobody answered the freakin' door!" He said nothing, only gaped at her. She glared at him and tried to discreetly wipe at her eyes. "_What_?"

It was Freddie's turn to glare at her. Did she really expect him to not notice the horrible, nasty bruise that practically took up _half of her face_? He could only sputter and stare as he tried to form the right questions—but what could he say? Both Sam's left eye and cheek were bruised, with an unpleasant yellowish-purple color surrounding her slightly bloody cheek. Her face looked sad and emotionally crushed, and he felt his heart drop and insides churn furiously when he realized that Sam couldn't have done this to herself, that someone… _someone must have_…

Freddie felt appalled, sympathetic, protective, and really, really angry all at the same time. His rush of feeling and realization must have resulted in a period of gaping silence, because Sam eventually got pretty fed up—

"Would ya quit staring at my face and spit it out already! "

Freddie blinked a couple times and then the questions started spilling out. "_Sam!_ Sam… what—what _happened_? Did you—I mean—who did this to you? Why didn't you say anything?" He paused and thought for a second. "_Please_ tell me you didn't walk all the way here from your house in this storm!"

She looked way too calm for his liking. That bored expression he hated half the time came over her face and she rolled her eyes at him, reaching her hand up to pat his bed head. "Aw, Fredward, don't you worry your dorky little head about me. I'm a big girl, I made it here just fine." Freddie frantically opened and shut his mouth, not convinced, but her hand shot up to cover it before he could make a sound. "And this," she pointed to her face, "is not as bad as it looks. So would you quit being a girl and just calm down? Geez, you really are as annoying as your mom."

She took her hand away and glanced sideways at him; Freddie had not stopped staring at her face. "It was just a little scuffle. Just drop it. My house wasn't working out tonight, so I came over to crash with Carly. Only it looks like that might not work out either…" Sam trailed off for a second as she leaned her head back onto the door of apartment 8-C. "Man, Carly and Spence really can sleep through anything."

She was obviously trying to change the subject, and Freddie wasn't having it. "Look, Sam, if you think I'm just gonna let go of the fact that someone hit you, then you really—" Before he could finish his sentence Sam was curling her fists into his t-shirt and jerking him towards her none too gently. Suddenly he was face to face with her and at the mercy of her infamous death glare. He gulped, his heart racing.

"I said _drop it_, Benson. I don't want to talk about it."

"But you—" She gripped his shirt even tighter and shook the protests out of him.

"No. Just, no."

At some point during Sam's mini-tirade, Freddie's eyes had dropped to her lips. Once Sam came out of her defensive haze she must have noticed, because her cheeks turned slightly red and she was abruptly shoving him away, letting her hands drop to the floor in a huff.

Freddie blinked, looking perplexed, and proceeded to smooth out his shirt. A silence overcame the odd twosome, threatening to be awkward this time. Good thing Sam always had the perfect line to break awkward silences.

"I'm hungry."

"Well that's surprising."

She tilted her head towards him, acting as if she hadn't been hurt and she wasn't soaked on a doorstep at 2 something in the morning. "Got any ham?"

Freddie was doing everything he could to keep himself from breaking the whole 'no questions' deal; feeding Sam seemed like the perfect distraction. It would be easier to pretend everything was normal this way.

"Actually, yeah. My mom made one a couple nights ago."

Her eyes bugged out so much that Freddie feared they would pop out of her sockets. "You people keep ham sittin' around in your fridge for days without eating it? Seriously Fredderson, you and your mommy got serious issues to work out."

It was an insult, but the curious feeling of relief washed over the brunette teenager. Apparently he was missing the good ol' offensive and witty Sam more than he originally planned. Biting back a smile, he rolled his eyes and scoffed. "Right Sam. _I'm_ the one with issues. They're called leftovers. Although something tells me you're not familiar with the term."

"Say whatovers?"

"That's what I thought. But yeah, my mom doesn't believe in wasting food. '_Every bite not chewed is waste accrued'…_" Freddie trailed off when he realized he was mechanically reciting one of his mother's incessant rhymes. His eye twitched.

"Uh huh. Who's the one with issues again?" She grinned evilly at him. He couldn't help but grin back; evil or not, it was just nice to see her smiling again. A smile looked natural on Sam, even with the ugly bruise marring one side of her face.

He made to stand up, eager to get out of the dank hallway, and offered a hand to his wet friend. "C'mon."

For once, she took it, and the pair silently headed for the Benson kitchen.

* * *

**Before you ask, Sam does not have an abusiveee motherrrr (just a neglectful one. it's canon!). Ugh that plot is way overused and abused, no pun intended. This will definitely be a two or three shot, because I apparently can't stick with anything more than 3 chapters long. And apparently love the word apparently.**

**Review? :)**


	2. kitchen

**Don't own. Yeahhhh at new episodes of iCarly!**

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It wasn't long before Freddie found himself sitting at his kitchen table, watching his aggressive friend devour a giant plate of dead pig. He vaguely wondered how he'd gotten to this point in the wee hours of his Saturday morning… then the memory of Sam crying rang in his ears. Now that he thought about it, he couldn't get that sound out of his head since it had entered his ears; it was just so… _foreign_. And depressing.

Aside from the blonde's chewing, a silence had blanketed the two teens, their previous lighthearted banter since faded. He watched her bore holes in the meat with her eyes as she mercilessly ripped it apart with her teeth. She refused to look up from her plate while Freddie apparently refused to look away from her. He abruptly ceased and desisted when he realized he'd been staring, running a hand through his hair and feeling his face heat up.

Ironic how about an hour beforehand he'd been thinking about how he and Sam had become such good friends, because now couldn't seem to say anything to her. Freddie knew that what he wanted to talk about was exactly what she _didn't_ want to talk about, so a semi awkward, lingering quiet was the result.

Talking about "serious" issues was relatively unknown territory for the two of them. They were used to bantering about iCarly bits or the most recent MMA fight—not really any serious material to discuss there. 'E_xcept for the one time where we ended up…_' The flustered teenager cut his thoughts off there and cursed himself for bringing that particular memory up twice in one night. He glanced back over at his soaked companion; if anything was a serious issue, it sure as hell was someone hurting Sam.

Freddie finally decided he didn't care if Sam didn't want to talk about it. With that resolve, he opened his mouth to speak.

"So," he croaked, and abruptly closed his mouth again. Sam looked up from her helpless meat platter and gave him a _what-the-hell _look. It appeared that the silence had gone on longer than he thought. He embarrassedly cleared his throat.

"_So_," he tried again. "Um…" suddenly he was at a loss for words. Probably would've been a good idea to have some sort of plan, or outline, or… _something_.

"Yeah?" She sounded impatient.

"You know Sam… I'm here if you want to talk… about anything." The words sounded weird in his head when he thought about to whom he was saying them.

At that she rolled her eyes. "Oh please, I am not hearing this chiz from you." She turned her head fiercely towards him and bunched a fist on the table. "Lemme guess. This is the part where I say woe is me and we discuss my life problems and blah blah blahhh."

"Er…" He didn't really have a response for that. Yeah. A plan would've been useful.

If it was possible to glare holes in people, Sam Puckett would be the first to achieve the said feat. "Let's get something straight off the bat. I don't want your pity Benson. Just your ham. We clear?"

Intimidated as he was, Freddie wasn't playing games anymore. "Sam, I really think we should talk about this."

More death glares. "What part of 'none of your business so leave it alone' don't you understand?"

Something in him snapped. "Look Sam, you're one of my best friends. Obviously someone hurt you, and it wasn't an accident. As far as I'm concerned, as long as someone's doing crap like this to my friend, _it is _my business!" He realized his voice had risen quite a few decibels and sheepishly looked down at his hands on the table, praying that his mom hadn't woken up. If Marissa Benson found out he was having a member of the opposite sex over during the late night hours, and that said female was Mrs. Benson's worst nightmare Sam Puckett, there would most definitely be hell to pay. Freddie could feel Sam's eyes on him, probably looking at him like he'd grown a second head. And she wasn't the only one who was surprised by his sudden outburst. Silence engulfed them once more.

After a moment, Sam finally gave a tentative response. "It's my problem. Why do you even care so much?" She turned her face so that he couldn't see her shiner anymore and bit into another slab of meat, frowning. Although she probably meant for it to sound more biting and defensive, her reply unintentionally came off as meek and… kind of vulnerable. Almost as if she was genuinely baffled that he actually cared about her.

Freddie stared. She shouldn't be all that surprised that he, a _friend_, cared about what happened to her, _a friend,_ he thought gloomily.

But… well… when he was completely honest with himself, he was a little taken aback by the degree at _which _he cared about his 'blonde haired demon friend.' When he'd seen her curled up crying before, looking completely vulnerable (a sight he was _really_ not accustomed to and found he really, really didn't like), and when he'd realized that someone had caused _her _pain and not the usual opposite… he couldn't explain it. There were more than a few emotions churning around in his chest, some of which Freddie wasn't even sure he could name.

He came to the peculiar conclusion that at some point during their friendship, the girl who was currently chewing with her mouth wide open had… gotten under his skin? He guessed. Maybe that was why he'd been thinking about her earlier, while trying to fall asleep.

Now that he was done having his mini revelation about Sam, the whole concept was kind of freaking him out. He cared. Like, he _really_ cared.

It was weird… but he chalked it up to the notion that Sam was his friend, and these feelings would bubble up for any of his friends if they were in her place. Right? Right.

"Yo. Fredward. Fredly. Freducation." The boy in question suddenly felt something small, thin, and sort of slimy hit him on his cheek, where it stuck. In a typically grossed out fashion, he peeled the piece of ham from his face and looked dryly up into the eyes of the thrower. "_Freddayyyy._ You gonna sit there and reflect all night? 'Cause I gotta say… it's kinda weirding me out."

Freddie realized that Sam must have been waiting for an answer to her previous question. Awkward.

He began to timidly rip at the small bit of meat in his hands. "Oh… yeah. I—"

She held a hand up and cut him off for what felt like the hundredth time that night. "Y'know what? All this talk of 'caring' and crap like that is overrated anyway. Let's just move the conversation on elsewhere." She made a moving gesture with her hands, and then started drumming them on the table when he didn't say anything. "Sooooo."

When had the air between them become so stuffy, again?

Freddie grasped around for something to say.

"All finished I see." he observed, raising his eyebrows at the empty plate in front of her. The walking vacuum had successfully consumed in 10 minutes what probably would have taken his mother and him the rest of the week to finish.

She patted her stomach and leaned back in her chair. "All in a day's work… thanks for the ham. I am officially satisfied… for now of course," Sam made the Fonzie gesture at him. He quirked one side of his mouth at her in silent acknowledgement of her thank you, their eyes met, and she smiled back. The moment passed, and both pairs of eyes were darting around the room, landing anywhere but each others'.

"Do… you want an ice pack for that or something?" He pointed to his own left eye and swiveled his finger around.

"Nah, I'm alright." She shrugged. "It seriously isn't as bad as it looks. And I've always wanted a cool black eye. Plus, unlike some pansies around here—"She nodded in his direction at 'pansies', "—I can handle a little bit of pain."

"Ha, ha."

As Sam smirked at her easily annoyed companion, a shiver ran up her spine. Freddie noticed immediately.

"You cold?"

"Well now that you mention it, as much as I enjoy being muddy and wet, Mama could use some dry clothes." She began to squeeze the rest of the water from her hair onto the kitchen floor, afterwards shaking out her blonde locks wildly, consequently spraying a slightly peeved, slightly amused Freddie. He put her dirty plate in the dishwater and turned back to her.

"No problem. I have some clothes you can wear in my room." As he moved to wipe tiny water droplets from around his eyes, Sam's hair sprayed him again. "Oh, geez Sam! You're like a wet dog."

She only grinned at him. "Lead the way Fredward."

* * *

Thunder clapped around them and the lightning lit up the apartment every few steps as Freddie led Sam to his bedroom. When the tech-oriented teen repeated that phrase—_lead Sam to his bedroom_—in his head, his stomach did flip flops. It was definitely a phrase that could lead a mind straight into the gutter, and, even though he knew it would never happened once in a million years, just the mere implications of him taking Sam Puckett to his room late at night made his cheeks heat up.

Thinking of Sam _that_ way was, well… it was labeled as 'forbidden' in his mind. Freddie'd always had this irrational fear that Sam would somehow find out if he so much as pondered what it would be like to like her that way. She would find out, and she would kill him. And she would kill him violently.

Not that it mattered before, since for the longest time he'd only had eyes for Carly. But… well, the boy wasn't really sure _what_ happened with the whole Carly thing. The closer he became with her, the less he thought of her as the love of his life and the more he thought of her as one of the best friends he'd ever have. It was just one of those things.

A particular loud bout of thunder made both teens jump while they padded their way to his room; the short distance from the kitchen to the bedroom had somehow turned into a long trek.

Freddie suddenly wondered what kind of thoughts were running through Sam's head at the moment, prompting him to glance discreetly over his shoulder at his blonde friend. A vein of lightning lit up her face in the dark hallway, revealing Sam to be staring off in to space, her features stoic as ever. The bruise on her face made her usual unimpressed expression darker than usual. She was so hard to read sometimes… well, all the time. Freddie would beat her at arm wrestling before he'd ever be able to tell what she was thinking, and as for the former… yeah, right.

Finally the twosome reached their destination, each wrapped up in their own thoughts. Much to Freddie's relief, the world didn't end when they both crossed over the threshold and into his room. He flicked on a lamp and started digging through a drawer of t-shirts.

"Wow Benson, you've really outdone yourself," Sam remarked as she took in the sheer abundance of _Galaxy Wars_ paraphernalia that blanketed his room. "I mean I knew you were a nub and all, but come on man, Galaxy Wars bed sheets? Have a little dignity!"

Freddie ignored her quips and turned around to place a pair of plaid pajama pants and his old 'electric ham' Penny Tee into her arms. Her eyes grazed over the shirt and she quirked a grin.

"Heyy, I always loved this one! Definitely one of your less loserish clothing choices. How come you don't wear it anymore?"

He puffed out his chest smugly. "I outgrew it."

Sam rolled her eyes, "Yeah yeah, don't get all idiotic and full of yourself just 'cause puberty was good to you." She seemed to realize she'd just accidentally paid him a compliment and blinked, instantly masking her face with a bored look.

Freddie cleared his throat and tried to shake off that awkward feeling that kept obnoxiously popping up between him and Sam. "You can keep it if you want. It's not like I'm using it."

The blonde nodded good-naturedly and held the clothes to her chest. "Cool. I mean, I was just gonna take it anyway, but ya know," she put her thumb and forefinger to her chin, reminiscent to Freddie's pose in the thousand photographs of himself he'd once planned on signing for iCarly fans, "it's kinda cool to have someone's permission before I steal something for once."

"You're a delinquent."

"Anddd you're a nub. We're even." It had become rather common lately for them to smile jokingly at each other during insult exchanges; now was no different. Eventually their smiles faded after a few ticks of them standing in the middle of his bedroom grinning sort of dumbly at each other, and Sam busied herself with unfolding the clothes while Freddie wondered what he was supposed to be doing next.

His wondering was put to an end when Sam waved a hand in front of his face.

"Sooo are you just gonna be standing there while I change, or…?" With her hands on her hips, she watched, amused, as Freddie's eye size doubled. She let out a strangled chuckle. "Dude, you're being more nubbish than usual."

He forced himself to laugh back, but it came out sounding more like a dying animal. "Haha—um, yeah. I'll just be… yeah." Freddie winced as he heard his voice crack. More than a little mortified, the brunette teen spun on his foot and walked out into the hallway as quickly as he could while still trying to look casual, although he had a feeling he was failing miserably at the whole 'casual' aspect. Sam, sporting a puzzled look and a big black eye, watched him go; they made eye contact one last time before he firmly shut the door behind him.

Again. Awkward.

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**Not much dialogue in this chapter, and a sickening amount of thought. Oh wellll. Thanks for all the reviews so far guys. I love feedback, so long juicy and or critique-y reviews are totally acceptable. : )**

**Next chapter we finally learn what the hell is up with Sam's face. Don't worry, this isn't one of those 'sam's shitty mommy beats her with a stick and her life sucks wahhh' fics. **

**Yeahhh... review?**


	3. bedroom

**Okay so I lied… this baby was running a little long so I have officially made it a 5-shot. This chap's a little shorter than this others, but it broke up nicely this way. Enjoyyy**

**Don't own iCarly. iGot A Hot Room was mighty hilarious. Tacos on a stick, an old man feeling up Spencer, and Sam jumping into bed with Freddie? I approve.**

**Also, ff dot net's being an assclown and won't let me put a divider here. Not cool.**

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As he leaned against the wall in the softly lit hallway (His mother made sure to keep all walkway carefully lit 24/7; _Walkways without light cause bruises in the night!_), Freddie tried his hardest to regain some of his cool.

This was bizarre. This was weird. This was… uhh? He couldn't recall ever having as many genuinely uncomfortable moments with Sam (Sam, Sam as in _Sam Puckett_, the same girl who left her toe nail clippings on Carly's coffee table and enjoyed hitting people with socks full of butter) in a row before this crazy night; then again, he also couldn't remember spending so much alone time with her before either. And not like meeting-up-at-the-Groovy-Smoothie alone. _Alone_ as in, not-another-soul-around-alone-in-a-bedroom alone.

He glanced at his bedroom door, hearing rustling sounds coming from within. The sounds, he thought with a swallow, of Sam changing clothes. In his room.

Freddie ran a shaky hand through his hair, which was now probably sticking up in every possible direction. Never in his life had he been so acutely aware of the fact that Sam was a girl. He wasn't an idiot; he'd always acknowledged her essentially 'girliness' (with all the trips she and Carly took to build-a-bra, how could he not?) but somehow it felt different now.

Freddie would die before he let himself think something as cheesy as 'he was seeing Samantha Puckett in a whole new light'; no, that wasn't quite what he was feeling. He was just _noticing_ things about her now. Little things. Maybe it was because she was putting on _his_ clothes in _his_ room, or the fact that he'd seen her really cry for the first time that night.

Whatever it was, she just seemed so much more _real_ to him now. _Okay maybe that's not the right word either._

He banged his head against the wall in a sort of half-assed form of self punishment, reminding himself of his earlier thoughts about Sam. Forbidden. Forbidden for good reasons, too; these were the exact types thoughts that would earn him a black eye to match hers and a killer wedgie, if his blonde best friend somehow used her evil genius to read his mind. He wouldn't put it beneath her.

These thoughts were giving Freddie chest pains. Another thunder clap shook the apartment. The brunette resorted to twiddling his thumbs, praying that when Sam came out she would let his previous odd behavior go.

She didn't.

The door opened a smidge and Sam stuck her head out. Her hair was almost dry again so her reformed curls bounced out everywhere. "You done PMSing out there Fredwina? Otherwise I'm afraid I can't let you in."

"Shut up Sam." He stood up and tried to shoulder his way through the crack; it didn't budge. "I clothe you and feed you at ungodly hours of the morning and you repay me by questioning my manliness?"

"Let's hear some manly grunts, just to make sure." She did a few impressions of his cracked voice and cackled. Miffed, Freddie pressed all his weight against the door, only to find himself on the floor of his room a second later.

"Very funny." He was on his back, shooting his best deadpan stare up at Sam, who was hovering over him. One of her curls tickled his nose.

"I thought so too," she agreed. "So I'm assuming you don't mind if I crash here, unless you'd rather force your poor, defenseless friend to sleep outside in the rain…" At this her lower lip jutted out mockingly.

Meanwhile Freddie's eyebrows were trying to make their way up to his hairline. Right… he hadn't even thought about sleeping arrangements. And Sam obviously wanted to stay at his place… which of course made the most sense at this point. Right. Everything was going to be totally fine and not weird at all. He swallowed.

"Um… you could take the bed, and I'll take the floor."

She shrugged. "Nah, as much as I love making you uncomfortable, I don't wanna put you out. I'll just crash on your couch."

"No dice. What if my mom gets up in the middle of the night for a healthy midnight snack or something? She'll see you there, and—"

"Dude it's not even midnight!"

"You know what I mean!" Freddie spluttered. He took a deep breath and lowered his voice. "Look. You just sleep in here, I'll set my alarm, and we'll sneak you out before my mom wakes up. She'll never…" Before he could finish his sentence the crazy blonde menace was brushing past him and diving headfirst into his sheets, situating herself while pulling them up to her chin. Her wild mass of curls fanned out over the pillows and she belted out an over exaggerated sigh of contentment. Freddie unwillingly felt the sides of his mouth quirk upwards at the sight. Turning to his closet, he bent down and started rummaging around in search of his old sleeping bag.

"What's with all the ruckus over there?" asked Sam, who had her arms folded behind her head, eyes closed.

"Looking for my sleeping bag," he answered distractedly.

The content girl deigned to open one eye and turn her head in his direction. "What do you need a sleeping bag for? This is a queen sized bed."

Freddie, whose entire upper body was submerged in the closet, moved to sit up quickly and banged his head on a shelf. "Ow…" His mouth went dry. Was she really insinuating, after all they'd been through tonight, after all they'd been through… _ever_, that they should share his bed for the night?

"Um… that's okay, I don't mind sleeping on the floor…" His voice threatened to crack again.

"Oh come _on_." Sam sat up. "What is this, the 1950's? It's just sleeping. I mean what the heck do you think is gonna happen anyway?"

A painful tick of silence went by where Freddie knew he was supposed to be responding but nothing was coming out. It must have been affecting Sam too because she took the initiative to salvage the moment.

"Dude, it's no big deal. I promise I won't bite… much." Freddie only stared at her with a glazed over look from across the room. She let out an annoyed sigh. "Quit being such a freaking nun."

That seemed to snap Freddie out of it. If Sam didn't think it was a big deal to share a bed, then he wouldn't think it was a big deal either. It would be like a sleepover. Just two buddies havin' a sleepover. Not a big deal at all.

Sam watched as Freddie robotically made his way back over to the bed. She scooted over and raised her eyebrows at him expectantly; he stood there for second or two before slowly pulling back his comforter. It looked like the flustered teen was preparing to sit on hot coals rather than a comfy mattress. He carefully put one foot in, then another. There. Mission accomplished. Freddie reached over and flicked off the lamp, bathing the pair in darkness, aside from a soft light in the corner.

"Is that a nightlight?" Sam's question came out giggly.

"_No_…" Freddie turned red. "It's an emergency light. In case of, uh, emergencies."

She snorted. "Riiiight."

They sat side by side with the covers over both of them, staring straight ahead. There was as much distance between them as was allowed without falling off the bed, and the dreaded silence reigned over them once more. Sam protruded her lower lip and bobbed her head; Freddie folded and unfolded his hands.

"Wellp," the girl beside him drew out the word, "it's been real. Night Fredward." With that she rolled over hastily, her back towards him.

He returned her sentiments with a weak "night", and stared up at the ceiling. His heart was still racing, and he tried in vain to keep telling himself that this was _not a big deal_. He shifted his eyes over to the back of her head. It was weird to see her so quiet and peaceful, and in the soft light she looked almost… fragile. Freddie knew the _last_ thing Sam wanted to be thought of was 'fragile', because her small stature was deceiving; after all, she could beat up a guy three times her size. But it was kind of nice to see another side of her. Just another one of those 'little things.'

His smile faded when he remembered how they had ended up like this. He sighed and wondered if her eye was hurting her. _So much for getting answers_. Mimicking Sam, he carefully rolled on his side and tried to get some sleep.

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**More awkward moments and Freddie!thoughts. I thrive off of awkward moments, aw yeah. I know I said we'd find out what happened to Sam, but I broke this chapter in two for the sake of story flow so... next time!**

**Reviews make limey happy. :3**


	4. the plunge

**Tina tina made these doorbells. And I don't own iCarly.**

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It was déjà-vu. For the past half hour, a restless Freddie had been checking the clock almost every 5 minutes, watching the minutes crawl by. 3:25, 3:31, 3:34… he should have been exhausted. Instead he was lying on his side, trying to concentrate on the continuous bolts of lightning outside and not the lump breathing beside him. Before he hadn't been able to sleep because of the thunder, but now he blamed his insomnia on the ticking bomb next to him.

Okay so Sam wasn't a bomb. But seriously, he really was afraid that if he made any sudden movements, something bad would happen. He wasn't sure what, but after all the weirdness that had ensued during that stormy night, he really couldn't be sure what to expect next. Which is why he hadn't moved from the position he took up after him and Sam and said their abrupt goodnights.

His left arm was starting to fall asleep.

Ever so slowly, Freddie craned his neck over his shoulder to sneak a peek at his companion. Automatically his heart beat quickened. Sam was in the exact same position he'd last seen her in as well. Her breathing seemed to be even; he guessed she was fast asleep. That was good. After whatever events that had gone down tonight that caused his friend a bloody cheek (events that she refused to share with him, he thought sulkily), she needed her rest.

He flipped on his back, deeming the coast clear, and let out a long breath. There was a crack in his ceiling, he observed. Then another look at the clock. 3:40… this was getting ridiculous. He admitted to himself there was a third cause for his restlessness: the abundance of questions that wouldn't stop pounding in his brain.

The intense curiosity Freddie held for Sam's situation was most definitely getting the best of him. He was peeved that Sam had snubbed all of his attempts to reach out to her, to get her to open up, but mostly he was just… well, sort of hurt. Hurt that she just didn't feel close enough to him to tell him—she would probably just voice her problems to Carly later. He thought for a moment; the vision of Sam sharing the story of her bruised face with Carly the next morning made his heart sink. What was he, chopped liver?

There he went, caring too much again.

Freddie shifted his eyes over to her dainty form. The nature of their relationship had changed, somehow. The air between them was different.

He couldn't really pinpoint when it happened. Maybe it had been a slow process, as they shifted from enemies to frenemies to friends? Or did it only happen tonight, when he'd been hit with the realization that people out there could harm her as easily as she harmed others? When he'd realized that Sam Puckett wasn't invincible?

Freddie closed his eyes and listened to her rhythmic breathing while the storm raged on outside. The thought that he'd been the one to take care of her tonight made him feel content. It was kinda nice knowing that no matter what had happened to her earlier, now she was under his watch, safely sleeping here.

"…You awake?" The scratchy voice that broke through the calm had Freddie's breath caught in this throat.

Okay, so she wasn't asleep.

"Yeah," he dutifully answered back, his voice low. "Uh, what's up?"

There was a long pause, and for a second the anxious teen thought that maybe she'd never said anything at all, maybe his mind had been playing tricks on him. But then she sighed heavily and spoke.

"So, my mom started dating this jerk Ted like three months ago. I knew he was a grade A jackass the first day I met him and saw that snobby smirk on his face, but he replaced our crappy TV with a flat screen and my mom seemed to really like him, so I didn't say anything…" She trailed off.

Her back was still towards him and she seemed to stiffen up a little bit more with every word; he turned on his side to face her back, patiently waiting for her continue.

She must have felt him shift because she kept on talking. "I mean, she dates tons of losers, right? So I just figured we'd get some free stuff out of this guy and then he'd be out of the picture like the others. But after awhile my mom still hadn't canned him and he was coming over to our house more and more. Like, he's over there all the time now, day and night." Sam's voice was getting a little worked up, and Freddie could feel it. She finally flipped on her back and glanced at him. "At first I just ignored him because I'm over here with you guys most of the time anyway, y'know?"

The brunette felt his chest well up with happiness at being included in 'you guys' and grinned at her through the darkness. "Well the iCarly gang _is_ where it's at."

A breathy half laugh, half sigh escaped her. "Hah, yeah. Wish I could just stay at Carly's place all the time." Freddie's grin melted away at the undertones; he shifted uncomfortably. It was one of those awkward 'just kidding' moments that was actually true. Sam extracted her slender arms from underneath the sheets and crossed them behind her head.

"Well, a few weeks go by and Ted, or how 'bout we call him Turd, starts walkin' around my house like he owns the joint, and the whole 'ignoring' deal wasn't really working out anymore. _Then,_ a like last week, he actually had to nerve to start ordering me around and Turd succeeded in _really_ pissing me off." As she glared at the ceiling, the side of her face that he could see, the bruised side, crumpled up in anger.

"Yeah. He would say crap to me like, '_why don't you contribute for once and clean up the kitchen Samantha_,' after he would eat half our food. Or, '_Samantha, be useful and make your mother a drink_._'_" Sam used a whiny, mocking voice for her impression of Turd.

"What a jerk." Freddie agreed, finding himself hanging on her every word. He felt as peeved off as Sam sounded, all the while really wary of where this whole back story on Turd was going.

"I know! It's like he thought he was my freaking dad or something. Total chiz," She was seething. "And the worst part was, my useless mom would just sit there and let him order me around! She was feeding into his whole idiotic 'man of the house' act like it was the best thing since plastic surgery! I mean it's not like I would actually do anything he told me to but I seriously couldn't take it anymore." Another pause.

"…What happened?"

The anger vanished from her features and she mustered up her best mask of nonchalance. "Well. Like I said I was done with Turd's crap. So last night I cracked and basically told him to get the stick out of his ass and leave me alone."

"You said that?"

"Pretty much…." She swiveled her head on the pillow in his direction, and looked a little shocked at how close Freddie's face was. Somehow he'd migrated from the edge of the bed to right next to her side during her story. He didn't notice her surprise or his migration and nodded for her to go on.

"He demanded I 'scrub the barracks' or some chiz like that after they polished off the chinese, and I said 'do it your damn self why dontcha,' and he was all 'what did you say to me' and I was like 'you heard me.'" She raised her eyebrows indifferently at the crack in his ceiling. "So he stomps over to where I am on the couch, super pissed, and demands that I 'have some respect'. I told him to screw off. Then…"

By that point her voice had dwindled to something just above a whisper, that bored look still going strong. Freddie's heart sped up and he couldn't seem to take his eyes off of her.

"Then…?" he prodded her gently, after she didn't say anything for a few seconds.

Sam's eyes seemed to snap out of their faraway look. She faced him. "Then, next thing I know the psycho was grabbin' me by the arm to make me stand up, and I had a fist in my face." Although her head was turned towards his, she didn't make eye contact. "Guess I was so surprised that he would actually _hit_ me that I forgot to dodge it."

"What did your _mom_ do?"

He saw her lips tremble faintly. "Nothing. She was right there, and saw everything. And she didn't do a damn thing. So I flipped Turd on his back, he screamed at me to get out, and I did," she said shortly, sighing through her nose.

Freddie felt like this was the point in the story where he should be there for her and say something comforting, but his mind couldn't seem to form anything to say. An awkward tick passed by before Sam continued.

"Sooo, I walked to Bushwell. Tried to pick the lock on Carls' apartment, but they had their deadbolt in and I didn't have my pliers. Then you came out and now I'm here," she finished. She scrunched up her lips and finally made eye contact with him, giving him a weary look.

He felt helpless. Probably looked it, too. "Sam… I…"

"_Don't _apologize," She warned. "People always do that when they feel bad for someone and it's stupid. I only told you because you wanted to know okay? Geez," as an afterthought she added on a halfhearted "ya nub."

"Sorry. I-I mean, got it. No apologies." Freddie pulled the comforter up higher around them. "Hey, Sam, thanks for telling me. I know it must have been hard." He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

She didn't return it, and was avoiding his gaze again.

"I mean, whatever. I've taken hits before. I just—" There was a short, sharp intake of breath, and suddenly she was choking on her words. Her eyes got all glisteny and a panicked Freddie felt that he should do something, anything, and fast. If Sam started crying right in front of him he was afraid the world would explode. She blinked a twice. "I just wish my mom had done _something_, y-y'know?"

This was the part where Carly would open up her arms, envelop Sam in a tight, reassuring hug, and let her cry on her shoulder, because Sam wasn't afraid that Carly would judge her. But he wasn't Carly, he was Freddie, the nerdy technical producer, and there were certain boundaries set up between him and the blonde that he wasn't sure if he was allowed to cross. So he did what he could.

"Yeah…" he answered softly. "I know."

She sniffed and tried to roll her eyes nonchalantly, but her eye roll caused a tear to escape and she quickly rolled her face in the pillow to get rid of it. Her sympathetic companion recognized that she was doing everything in her power not to let herself cry in front of him, vainly attempting to keep up the persona that she didn't give a crap and crying was for weaklings.

Sam didn't want him to see her like this, but it didn't even matter, because Freddie already had, before. He wished there was some way to tell her that it was okay and he wouldn't judge her for it anymore than Carly would.

He decided to press his luck and lifted his arm up to put a reassuring hand on her shoulder; they were both on their sides facing each other now. "Hey," the side of his mouth quirked, "If that big Turd ever gives you trouble again, just shoot me a text and I will personally flush it for you."

Sam raised a skeptical eyebrow. "_You?_ What are you gonna do?"

Freddie chuckled. "I duno—wedgie bounce him or something. Force him into one of your mom's bikinis and make him wrestle in dog food. Run him out of town on a rail. Something. I have the right connections," he shrugged jokingly.

The blonde beside him jutted her lower lip out as if pondering this and then cracked a tiny grin. Freddie felt unbelievably happy. A smile! Maybe he wasn't as bad at this as he thought. There was one more thing he needed to say.

"And… you know…" suddenly he felt shy, "You can always come here. I-I mean Bushwell. Carly and me, we've always got stuff in our fridge to feed your crazy meat-lovin' self." He thought for a second. "Although Carly's fridge is a bit more raid-able, most of the stuff in mine is gluten-free, or has been pounded into sauce with a mallet…" He sensed he was rambling and moved to wrap it up. "But, yeah. We're here for you. Whenever you need us."

Freddie turned slightly red, as he had to catch himself there when he almost said 'me' instead of 'us,' and thank God he did, because Sam never would have let him live it down, would she? Right now she was only staring at him strangely.

"Fredweird," she stated plainly, her eyes shying away from his, "you're such a… dork."

Her eyes shifted back up; there she was, giving him that look again. It was a sort of mystified expression, as if she was searching for something within him, and Freddie realized he'd only seen that particular look on her once before. For the third time that night, he found himself traveling back in his mind to that memory on the fire escape, where it was just him and Sam and a meatball, and no one else. They'd kissed, and she'd pulled back and given him that searching look. _This_ look.

Then that Freddie was struck with an odd and somewhat terrifying impulse.

Neither of them said anything, they just stared at each other, their faces only a foot away. It was like a game, a dangerous and potentially awkward game, and they were daring each other to back off and look away. Neither did.

And when Freddie felt some unknown force causing him to lean forward over the pillows, not knowing what the hell was going on, he had a feeling that when it came to this whole game they'd been playing tonight, the game they'd been playing _forever_, something was about to give.

Eyes sliding shut, he thought hazily that Sam was right to call him as insane as his mother when he closed the distance between them and kissed her.

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**My biggest deal with writing fanfiction is that all the characters are in character... I think it's cause I used to totally mutilate characters' personalities in my younger fanfic writing years... ewww. Oh, issues. But yeah, let me know what you think. I want to make sure Sam and Freddie are acting like Sam and Freddie.**

**I've found that seeing a review in my inbox make me unreasonably happy, so make my day and click the blue button?**


	5. fire escape

**Thanks for the reviews guys! I love reading them almost as much as I love cream puffs.**

**So shit's about to go downnn… and I don't own iCarly**.

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Fredward Benson was currently having a mini freak out. His heart was pounding so rapidly against his ribcage that he was pretty sure he was going to pass out any minute. His face was on _fire_. His head was spinning and he felt a little delirious.

He had kissed Sam. He had _kissed _Sam. Somehow he'd let go of everything that made sense, acted on a crazy impulse, and smooshed their faces together.

The crazier part of it was that Sam had actually kissed him back. The most bizarre part of all was that they were _still_ kissing.

As he slanted his lips over hers again and again, Freddie's brain was churning out thoughts a mile a minute. What did this mean? Sam was kissing him back and they were kinda sorta making out now. In his _bed._ Did this mean she liked him? …Did it mean he liked _her_?

Freddie tried to shift his body a little but the whole positioning thing was awkward. Since they were in a bed, the two of them were in a weird half sitting up, half lying down arrangement, with his head leaning over hers. He wondered what he should be doing with his hands; he wondered how many seconds had gone by. Overanalyzing a kiss while it was happening might have been a girly thing to do but Freddie couldn't really bring himself to care.

Breaking standard kiss protocol, the boy squinted one eye open to peek at Sam. She seemed content, and really into it, which pretty much blew his mind. It was weird to see her eyelashes up this close… they were pretty. The first time they'd kissed Freddie'd been too scared to open his eyes, so he hadn't noticed before.

He was running out of air, and, not wanting to pull away, resorted to breathing carefully out of his nose. Sam was one of the biggest wild cards the world would ever see, so Freddie couldn't help but over think every move he made around her, especially when they were—it was so strange just thinking it—_making out_. Out of all the reactions Sam could've had to this whole 'him randomly kissing her' situation, this one wasn't the one he pictured. As soon as he'd first made lip contact with her, she'd stiffened immediately in shock; mortified, he was a second from pulling away when he felt a gradual pressure on his lips.

And well, here they were. At first he was so shocked that Sam was actually reciprocating that he was too freaked out to back away afterwards. Now… he just didn't want to.

The realization that he didn't want this to end gave the self-proclaimed tech geek the confidence he needed, and in one swift movement, Freddie was worming an arm around Sam and pulling her against him, stroking her shoulder with his thumb. He pressed his lips a little harder against hers and sighed softly though his nose. It was official; he was enjoying this.

And when he felt Sam's hands move to his chest, a warm feeling filled him up and he figured, that even though this whole thing between them was weird, maybe Sam was enjoying it as much as he was.

Then suddenly the dainty hands against his body were brutally shoving him away, and a bewildered Freddie felt himself propel back with so much force that he toppled over the edge of the bed, his legs awkwardly tangled in his sheets.

Um, what?

Dazed, he lifted his head to see Sam jump out of bed and stand up like she had just realized that the bed was on fire and it was either get the hell out of there or die. She whirled around to face him. She looked _pissed._

"What the_ hell Benson!_" She glared at him accusingly, like he'd just slapped her or something.

Freddie wasn't sure how to respond. He was still trying to wrap his mind around everything that had just happened, the kiss _and_ the shove.

"I—what's wrong…?" He asked her weakly.

"Oh don't gimme that chiz," Sam stomped around the bed and yanked her terrified companion to his feet by his t-shirt. She jabbed an angry, accusing finger in his chest. "What'd you have to go and pull that crap for?"

"S-Sam," Freddie prayed she wouldn't sock him for this, "Could you maybe keep it down please? My mom will hear…"

The livid blonde took a deep breath and took a step back from him, deflating a little. He dared to look up to her face; she looked hurt.

"I told you I didn't want your freaking pity," Her voice was low and shaky and she refused to meet his eyes.

He frowned. "You think I kissed you… out of pity?"

A dark look came over Sam's features before she exploded. "Well what the heck am I supposed to think!" she spluttered. "You love Carly!"

Freddie blinked. Carly? When had Carly entered the picture? "Who said I was in love with Carly?"

"Um, _you _did? Multiple times, all of 'em _pathetic_, ever since I've known you!"

"Well when's the last time you heard me say it?" he challenged, crossing his arms.

Sam shot him her best death glare. "We're not having this conversation," she said dryly, stooping to pick up her wet clothes and shoes from the foot of his bed. "I'm outta here."

Only when she'd brushed past him roughly and was already out the door did Freddie seem to snap out of the shock of her ultimatum. He stood rooted to his spot for another second, frantically wondering what to do; there was no way he could let her leave, it was still storming out and the middle of the night. But at this point there was no way she would listen to him, either.

Why had she brought up Carly?

"Aw, _butter_." He bounded to the doorway and whispered urgently out into the hallway. "_Sam_! Where're you going? It's not safe! Sam where are you?" No response. He heard his front door open and shut.

_Crap._

Freddie found himself running after her, unwilling to let her venture out into the rainy night on her own, no matter how street smart she was. Plus, he _needed_ to know what this meant. All of it. The questions were eating away at him.

Yanking open the apartment door, he swiveled his head to the left just in time to see Sam put her other foot out of the window leading to the familiar fire escape at the end of the hall. Oh, the irony. Freddie sprinted over. "Wait up! Sam, wait!" he finally reached his destination and climbed out onto the familiar metal space, slightly out of breath. Sam, who was sitting on the steps busily putting her black checkered chucks back on, didn't look up.

"_What_."

"Um, I," The brunette stuttered, momentarily at a loss for words. "I-I think we should talk about what happened." He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling stupid and awkward. The wind was blowing the rain on them in gusts and his clothes were starting to get damp.

After a couple of seconds Sam lifted her head and gave him a bored look, folding her arms on her knees. "You mean, we should talk about how you made out with me because you felt sorry for me and then I _didn't_ beat the crap outta you? _Why_ is that again?"

Freddie groaned and raised his palms in the air. "Come _on,_ Sam! What is it gonna take for you to believe that I didn't do it because I felt bad for you! I mean sure I was pissed that that jerk hit you but it's only 'cause I care about you! What, am I not allowed to care?"

He waited for her reaction but she wasn't looking at him anymore. He let his hands drop, some of his irritation draining away. With a sigh he slumped down next to her on the fire escape stairs and stared at his hands. "It wasn't out of pity okay?" he said quietly. Then as an afterthought, he added, "And I don't like Carly like that anymore. I haven't for awhile."

After he finished saying his peace, both of them were silent. Tension was palpable in the air between them from everything he'd just said and at where this conversation seemed to be going. It was evident that Sam and Freddie were at some sort of curveball turning point in their relationship that neither were expecting, or maybe even ready for.

Sam finally sighed and shook her head to herself. "You screwed everything up."

Freddie rolled his eyes. "_How_ Sam." He asked tiredly. "How did I screw everything up."

For once, the usually well-spoken girl seemed at a loss of witty comebacks. "You just did, alright?" she huffed quietly. "Why'd you kiss me?"

"I don't know, why'd you kiss me back?" he countered.

She only elbowed him and turned her head away. They were just dancing in circles, now. Thunder rumbled around them, filling the silence.

Sam steeled herself. "You don't know. …_oh_-kay,"

Freddie suddenly felt bad; that probably hadn't been the right thing to say, even if it was half true. "I mean," he tried again, "I guess I did it… because, I just wanted to." Wow, his way with words was stunning. Now he felt really awkward - his cheeks flushed.

"What does that even mean?" Sam prodded.

"How am I supposed to know?"

"Dude, _you_ were the one who kissed _me_. How could you not know!"

"I don't know, I just don't! I wanted to do it, I did it, the end—_o_w!" Sam had reached up and flicked his forehead. "What was that for?"

"Because obviously this whole 'talking about it' thing isn't getting us anywhere, since you're too much of a weenie to be straight with me about anything." Her expression was thoroughly unimpressed, like she was expecting something specific from him but he just wasn't cracking. "And you were annoying me," she added casually, shrugging.

Freddie's eyebrows bunched together and his features morphed into a scowl. He didn't know what she wanted him to say. It's not like he could just come out and _tell_ her everything he'd been thinking about her. And furthermore, if he annoyed her so much, what was holding her back from just getting up and leaving?

Before he could retort with his own snarky comment, Sam was putting a finger to his lips. "Alright alright, just chill for a second Fudgeface." After a curious look replaced his scowl, she took her finger away. "Maybe we can try a different approach." Only her eyes betrayed her nerves, as her voice and appearance were kept expertly calm and casual.

Freddie cocked an eyebrow. "Like what?"

Then Sam was manhandling his t-shirt again, but this time, Freddie noted with churning insides, she was forcibly pulling him towards her face. He really didn't have time to think before he found himself in a liplock with Sam for the second time in one night. However, this time it was different; Sam Puckett was at the reigns, and she was kissing him hard and like she meant it. An aggressive kiss from a _very_ aggressive girl, Freddie thought as the shock wore off about 3 seconds into it, his eyes closing. He found himself liking it. It was so…Sammish.

Just as he started to respond to her actions (quite enthusiastically in fact), Sam was pulling away from him as fast as the lightning that lit up the sky around them. She still had a grip on his shirt and kept them only a face length apart as she proceeded to stare him down. The rain was still coming down in sheets, with the wind whipping her long blonde hair all over the place.

"There," she raised her eyebrows at him challengingly with her poker face intact, "that tell you anything, Fredward?"

Oh yeah, it did. With the kiss plus what she'd just said to him, Freddie Benson was well on his way to proving a relatively new theory.

The theory that Sam Puckett liked him _that _way. As in the _good_ way. Him. The dork. Freddie.

Holy _chiz_.

He realized his mouth was hanging open and he quickly shut it. When he didn't answer her right away, Sam released her grip on his shirt and immersed herself in playing with her shoelaces. So much rain had blown on them already that her hair was almost as soaked as it'd been when he'd first discovered her that night outside his apartment door. A few wet strands blew in her face, but apparently she was too interested in her shoes to bat them away.

And then it hit him that for once when it came to his relationship with the venerable Puckett, _he_ was the one holding all the cards. The usually proud blonde had taken a chance and put herself out on the line, letting him know (definitely by showing rather than telling) how she felt, as crazy as those feelings were. She'd laid all her cards out on the metaphorical table and now she was just riding on his response, waiting to hear if she'd won or lost.

It was a strange feeling. This was the most power he'd had and probably would ever have over Sam, and Freddie wasn't sure if he liked having their positions switched like this. He wanted her to insult him. He wanted her to make one of those sarcastic, snarky comments that she always seemed to have lined up for him on the tip of her tongue, and show him that she couldn't care less, that she just was the same old, classic Sam.

But she _did _care, because the usually loud n' proud teenager didn't say anything at all. She only sat there, her shoulders slumping almost indistinctly with every second Freddie kept silent, waiting for him to say _something_.

He could make or break her.

Sam had feelings for him. He kept repeating the words in his mind, trying to get them to really register; the once-forbidden concept came off as mind-boggling and unbelievable at first, considering their whole history, but if he looked close enough and thought hard enough, it kind of fit.

How long had she felt this way? Was it a recent thing, or did it date all the way back to their kiss on the fire escape, which she had made very clear was 'just to get it over with'?

Freddie looked down at his feet. It was funny to be pondering all of these new thoughts and feelings here of all places, in the very spot he'd sat in when Sam matter-of-factly ordered him to 'lean.' Different memories of his crazy blonde friend whizzed through his mind. There were ones of Sam flipping Japanese dudes over her shoulder, polishing off entire pizzas, and whipping her curls around everywhere during random dancing. Then there was Sam curled up in a tiny ball outside of Carly's front door; it was abruptly replaced by her bravely grabbing him by his shirt and kissing him.

Everything he'd been debating in his mind – these were new thoughts, for sure, but… maybe they weren't new feelings.

"Hey, Sam?"

"Yeppp," she answered curtly. A considerable amount of silence had already gone by, so when Freddie finally spoke up, the wet, weary and bruised-up blonde sounded like she would rather be anywhere other than where she was now.

"Remember when those prisoners came out of those giant pants, and duct taped you, me and Carly to chairs?"

"Yeah…" She looked doubtful. "Um, random much?"

"A-and Carly, she was still freaking out over us kissing so she kept asking us all these embarrassing questions…"

"So?"

"So, she asked us if we liked it and we never answered."

Sam nodded as she revisited the memory. "Ohh yeah, Spencer came in looking for his banjo or somethin' and didn't notice we were _taped to furniture_," she looked annoyed, " and we were stuck on the freakin' kitchen floor for like an hour."

They were getting off topic. Freddie took a deep breath and cleared his throat.

"Uh huh. Well… yes." Ugh, he could feel himself blushing.

"Yes what?"

"_Yes_, to her question."

"Huh? Whose question are we talkin' about here?"

He fought the urge to smack his forehead. "Carly's!"

Sam finally seemed to register what he was trying to tell her and her eyebrows shot up. "Oh." She eyed him with a skeptical gaze. "Really?"

"Yeah." Freddie tapped his bare feet on the cold metal and stared straight ahead out into the rainy night, the twinkling Seattle lights spread out below. The ball was momentarily back in Sam's court. She seemed to be thinking hard about something; then, after a moment she pulled her arm back to affectionately (and maybe a little bit shyly) punch his shoulder.

"…Me too."

When he turned to inadvertently rub the spot where she'd thumped him—probably harder than was necessary to get her point across—they caught each other's gaze and grinned at each other. However the whole incessant grinning thing became a little awkward after a while, causing Sam's eyes to glance away for a second and then back hesitantly. The nonchalant expression was back. She shrugged her shoulders with a frank "What now?"

Freddie pursed his lips, looking unsure about something, but within a few seconds he was sidling up close to her side and reaching for her hand. Although Sam appeared a little uncertain, she didn't make any attempts to move away as the slightly nerdy guy beside her took her hand in his.

Okay, they were holding hands now, and the world still hadn't ended, sweaty palms aside. That was good.

This was nice.

He stared down at their intertwined fingers, mesmerized. Freddie pondered on how much things would be different after tonight. This whole concept was so new to both of them, him especially. The brunette swallowed; what if things got weird? Without warning he was struck with an intense fear of change in their classic Sam-and-Freddie dynamic.

It was if Sam was somehow miraculously able to read his mind. "You know, I still think you're a nub," She asserted out of nowhere, cryptically reminding him that Sam Puckett wasn't like other girls.

Relief washed over him and Freddie decided not to worry about it.

"Good," he declared amiably, squeezing her hand.

When the pair finally embarked on the journey back to Freddie's room, the storm was starting to let up. They'd sat together in comfortable silence for a bit before Sam detached their hands, stood up and declared that she was beat. Freddie more than agreed; between all the yelling, kissing, revelations, and more yelling, not to mention it the fact that it was past 4 am, he could literally feel the bags forming under his eyes.

They walked silently back into his bedroom where he immediately went about digging for some more t-shirts and flannel pants to replace their current sopping wet attire. He handed Sam the clothing and this time she turned to change in his bathroom, closing the door behind her without a word.

By the time the blonde finally emerged, warm and dry (enough), he was already beneath the sheets, his hands interlocked behind his head. Sam unceremoniously dropped the wet 'electric ham' t-shirt in her pile on the floor, then comically flopped backwards into bed, sighing dramatically. Freddie chuckled lightly and sat up to pull the sheets back so she could crawl in.

Not many words were exchanged since the two friends had come to a sort of mutual understanding on the fire escape, which was alright with him because it was late, they were tired, and all newly brought-up feelings could be addressed later on. For now, Sam and Freddie were content.

They weren't necessarily 'cuddly' with one another because there were still a lot of unsaid things standing between them. Enough had been said, however, for the two of them to scoot closer until their sides met, and for Freddie to snake his free arm around her shoulders. When she closed her eyes he felt brave enough to lightly brush his thumb over her bruised cheek - she didn't bat him away or even crack open an eye.

The boy _hated_ that jerkoff for ever laying a finger on Sam; at the same time he was grateful that she'd shown up outside his door at 2 in the morning. Tonight had been awkward, unpredictable, and at times completely insane, but, Freddie thought as he closed his eyes and rested his arm over Sam's waist, he sure as hell wouldn't change any of it.

It wasn't long before both teens fell into a tranquil and much-needed sleep.

* * *

**So Freddie finally stops being an oblivious idiot… aw yeahh. There's actually gonna be one more chapter to wrap this baby up.**

**I didn't want their whole 'moment' to be a sapfest, butttt I duno how well I succeeded with that, haha.**

**Review if you're feelin cool and thanks for reading!**


	6. morning

**Last chapter! Can't believe I actually finished something... thanks for stickin with me haha. Don't own iCarly!**

* * *

"Fredward Benson! You've got some explaining to do young man!" When the first thing Freddie heard upon waking up was _not_ his alarm clock, but his mother's shrill voice, the dazed brunette immediately felt that horrible, creeping feeling in his stomach.

_Oh no._

He'd forgot to set his alarm last night, which meant he never snuck out Sam, which meant his mom had discovered her sleeping next to him and _oh god_ he was gonna be sick. In a panicked frenzy, his eyelids snapped open and he shot up like he was on fire, a wild and guilty look in his eyes.

"M-mom! It's not what it—" A quick glance to his right and then his left revealed that he was all alone in his bed, the aggressive blonde nowhere to be found. Feeling his heart speed up, Freddie ripped back the covers as if to find her hiding under there. Not one of his more intelligent moments. "…looks like," he finished lamely. He was still twisting his head all around, scanning the room for Sam.

Marissa Benson could only look on anxiously while her son behaved very strangely. Like a hawk on its prey she swooped down upon the addled boy, thrusting a hand to his forehead, then his cheeks. "Are you feeling alright Freddie-bear? Should I get the first aid kit?"

"I'm fine mom… really. Just didn't get much sleep last night."

"Well why not?" Mrs. Benson asked frantically, mentally paging through all the things that could be possibly wrong with her precious baby boy; specifically, disorders that caused insomnia and extreme paranoia.

Freddie's throat dried up at the question. "B-because of the storm," he answered hastily. Well, it was half true.

"I don't know, maybe I should check your temperature just to be sure. It's almost ten, you're usually such an early riser… your internal clock might be broken…" After murmuring to herself for a bit about her son's vitals, she seemed to suddenly remember why she'd been yelling at him in the first place. "And what have I told you about leaving clothes on the floor? I know I've taught you better, Freddie." He craned his neck to see the mystery clothes she was referring to. Sure enough, the two pairs of pajamas he'd lent Sam the night before were strewn all over the carpet in a particularly Sammish fashion. Not quite messy enough to give his mom a heart attack, but definitely enough to piss her off.

"Sorry," he amended for the mess, hopping out of bed to pick up the clothes. "I um, felt like trying on clothes last night…?" Wait, that didn't come out right.

"Oh, it's alright. Hurry up and get ready for the day, I've had oatmeal on the stove for over an hour!" With that Mrs. Benson left to room to most likely go freak out over something else.

Freddie waited until she was out of sight, then shut the door and fell back on his bed with a sigh of relief. Memories of last night flooded back to him full force and he blushed, particularly recalling Sam's lips on his. The thoughts in his head concerning her were certainly a lot different than when he'd first lain down to go to bed last night… that was for sure.

It sounded really dumb and clichéd but he couldn't seem to get her off his mind. With each passing second, Freddie seemed to be more resolved with his feelings towards Sam. She was rude, violent, offensive, and completely insane at times, and now, he _liked_ her.

He almost laughed out loud. Weird, how things had panned out.

He found himself wondering what time she had left this morning. Must have been early, because his mom always woke up around 7 and there was _no_ way Sam was leaving undetected on her watch. Then he tried to figure out where she could have gone that early; he didn't think she would be all gung-ho for going back home knowing that her mom's boyfriend might still be lurking around. Maybe she'd finally found her way into Carly's? Or bashed her way in would be more like it, knowing Sam.

The knowledge that the blonde plaguing his head could be just across the hall lounging at Carly's place was making Freddie fidget. Okay, he was going to be a total dork for thinking this, but… how soon was too soon to run over and talk to her? There were so many ends left open from what had happened 6 hours prior, and the boy couldn't help but crave more answers. The only thing they'd actually admitted aloud was that they both liked a kiss that had happened two years ago. And yeah, it obvious from the whole make out thing that they two of them harbored some sort of feelings for each other, but what now? Should he ask her out or something? It just seemed too formal and proper when it came to him and Sam.

Then an unpleasant idea occurred to him. What if, the brunette thought dejectedly, this was just another we-never-speak-of-it-again type deal? It wasn't that far-fetched. In fact, Sam was known for purposefully sweeping things she didn't feel like dealing with under the rug. Freddie sat up, the sick feeling returning to his gut.

That was it. He was tired of tearing himself up over Sam, and if he was anything, Freddie was a man of action - years of relentlessly chasing after Carly could prove it. Hoisting himself out of bed, he marched straight into the shower, resolving to head to apartment 8-C as soon as he was done.

He and Sam were going to straighten some things out, and for _real_ this time, not just skirt around the important issues like last night on the fire escape. And if she tried to avoid him, Freddie mused as he twisted on the hot water, well… he'd cross that bridge when he came to it.

* * *

One bowl of wheat-germ oatmeal and a bagel with grape jelly later (he tried scarfing them down but his mother threatened to not let him leave the apartment if he didn't chew at a safe pace), Freddie found himself knocking on the Shay's front door, which was still locked. He leaned back and forth on his heels, hearing scuffling from within the apartment.

The muffled voice of Spencer reached his ears. "Carlayyy! Get the door, my hands are currently occupado." Footsteps, and then the door opened to reveal the lively face of a certain Carly Shay, who was still in her pj's.

"Freddie," she greeted cheerfully.

"Hola."

She smiled. "You're here earlier than as per usual." Opening the door wider for him to come inside, she turned to recommence watching Girly Cow reruns on the couch. Freddie took the silent invitation and joined her happily, temporarily forgetting his original mission. Formalities weren't really necessary here; he was over so often that this place was pretty much his second home.

"Freddo," Spencer acknowledged him from kitchen. The brunette stretched his neck around Carly to see the eccentric artist currently working on some giant sculpture made out of what looked like peanut butter.

"I thought you learned your lesson about food sculptures after Toasty the butter guy?" Freddie joked.

"Hey. Don't hate on my muse."

The two teens laughed and turned their attention back to the animated cow on TV. Carly nudged his side good naturedly. "So how was the rest of _your_ Friday night mister?"

The boy next to her tensed faintly but then managed to put on his best cool face. "Uh, it was fine, nothing special…why?"

"Just askin'," she shrugged, not really paying attention. His shoulders slumped, relaxed. For a second there he thought she somehow knew about—

He sucked in a breath, remembering why he was here in the first place.

"Sam around?" His eyes furtively inspected the area for a glimpse of blonde hair as he posed the question.

Carly didn't look up from the television. "Nope, although she'll probably be here soon. She texted me like a half hour ago asking if Spencer still had leftover ribs from Rick's and I told her yes."

He tried to mask his disappointment. "Oh. Ha, I'm surprised she's not here already."

"I know right." She giggled slightly, both teens thinking about their meat-lovin' best friend, although for very different reasons. "Hey, since you're here, let's watch a some of those videos people sent us after iCarly yesterday. I haven't seen any of them yet, Spencer made me shut down the computer 'cause of the lightning." She got up to walk over to the computer at the counter and her 'tech stooge' followed dutifully.

"That was some intense storming going on," Spencer piped up upon hearing his name. "Did you guys hear that thunder last night? Man!"

"No, no, I was asleep then," Freddie interjected stiffly. The Shay siblings momentarily ceased their typing and peanut butter sculpting to fix him with an odd look; he cleared his throat and changed the subject. "So uh, what do you think about that one video with the watermelon and the hermit crabs?"

His quick turnaround seemed to quell the siblings' curiosity, and Spencer turned back to his peanut butter man while his younger sister began to talk animatedly about how 'she couldn't believe how strong those hermit crabs were.' With one last wistful glimpse at the front door, Freddie accepted that the Sam thing was going to have to wait.

* * *

By the time noon rolled around, Sam still hadn't shown and Carly and Freddie had watched so many videos and replied to so many emails that their brains were near fried. The web star swiveled around in her stool and sighed, stretching her arms and legs.

"I think I might get something from the deli across the street," Carly declared, hopping down and heading for the stairs to change. "Anyone else want anything?"

"Yeah, grab me a falafel. I've been cravin' one of those since I saw that hot lady sellin 'em on the corner last week. And there's cash in the dish by the door." Spencer, now pretty much covered head-to-toe in peanut butter, sauntered over to the bar and grinned at the two teens. Carly made a disgusted face at him.

"Gross, it's all in your hair."

At her observation the artist in question automatically brought a hand to his head, effectively smearing the sticky goo deeper within his brown locks. "Right… while you're out, I'm gonna go try and wash out the peanut butter that's made its way into… weird places."

Earning an 'eww' from his younger comrades, Spencer brushed past Freddie and jokingly made to poke Carly with a gooey finger, who squealed and disappeared up the stairs with an annoyed "_Spencerrr!_"

Her brother just laughed and continued on his way to the shower. "If Sam comes over tell her not to eat my sculpture, it's in the freezer!" He called over his shoulder to the lone teenager left in the living room.

Freddie gave a halfhearted "kay" and turned back around in his seat to rest his chin in his palms, thoughts of Sam still fluttering in his brain. _Sam_. Where the heck was she anyway? Obviously his guess that she would've gone straight to Carly's was completely wrong… he hoped that she was okay, wherever she was.

Timing was apparently on his side today because at that very moment the door banged open, and in strolled the missing Sam Puckett.

"Yo, heard there were ribs." Freddie head snapped up immediately at the sound of the familiar voice; when he twisted his head to see the source of it, she'd already passed him on her way to the fridge, so he ended up doing this awkward 360 in the stool that he prayed she didn't see.

His prayers were most likely answered for when he finally caught site of Sam, her head was so far in the Shay's refrigerator that it was pretty much impossible for her to be seeing anything besides food items. Freddie gulped. Now that he knew Sam was in the room, his heartbeat had picked up quite a bit of speed and his head was kind of swimming a little. Funny what one night could do.

Finally the supposedly starved teenager happily extracted herself from the chilled box of food wonderland, her arms full of meat products and most importantly, leftover ribs from Rick's Rib joint. Nudging the refrigerator door shut with her hip, she pivoted around to find herself under the intense stare of Freddie from over at the bar. They caught each others' gaze, and there was a second or two of silence during which their changing relationship seemed to really sink in for both of them.

"Benson," she nodded at him.

"Puckett."

Sam laughed and brought her load of food over to the counter, standing directly across from him. "So where are the people who actually live here?" she asked, biting into her first rib.

"Spencer's in the shower, Carly's upstairs." Now that they were face to face, Freddie couldn't help but give her bruise a once-over; it had turned more of a purplish-blackish color since he'd last seen it.

"Cool, cool." Sam bobbed her head genially and fixed her attention on the meaty goodness in front of her. She seemed like she was in a pretty good mood. It was now or never, he decided.

"Uh, Sam, I—"

"_Ohmygod!_ Sam, what happened!" Carly had appeared at the foot of the staircase, her concerned eyes fixated on her best friend's face. Sam only chewed nonchalantly.

"What, you mean this?" The blonde asked casually through a mouthful of beef.

"Yes, _that_!"

She shrugged. "Had a little scuffle with this band of hobos on my way home last night. I showed them why they shouldn't mess with Mama. No big deal." Freddie's eyebrows shot up. She was lying. Why would she lie to Carly?

Carly didn't look the least bit convinced. "Why would a _band of hobos_ randomly jump you?"

"They wanted my sandwich."

"_Sam!_ Don't lie!" The brunette girl was starting to take on her infamous 'whipped up' tone.

"I'm not lying!" Sam stared pointedly into Carly's eyes with her best 'I'm dead serious' face. "I went to Clark's Deli as soon as I left your place last night, I swear!"

Once Sam raised her voice a little Carly seemed to simmer down. "Promise?"

"Yeah!" Freddie could only look on silently as Sam nodded determinedly. It was strange to actually witness her famous lying abilities in action.

Carly relented and walked over to her friend, brushing her blonde bangs aside so she could access the 'hobo induced' damage. "Aw," she said sadly, "they took your sandwich?"

"Uh huh. Can't win 'em all y'know…"

"Well I was just on my way to Clark's anyway. I'll buy you a new sandwich, kay?" She gave Sam a one-armed squeeze and then headed for the door.

"You're the best Carls."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. You two try not to kill each other while I'm gone." Carly added with a winning smile, prompting her two friends to glance at one another sideways at the irony in her statement. Then the door shut, the third member of their trio was gone, and Sam and Freddie were once again very much alone.

First off, he shot the girl who was currently gnawing persistently on a rib bone a skeptical look. "A band of hobos jumped you for a _sandwich_? Really?"

Sam polished off the last shred of meat on the entire plate, throwing the bone down with a clatter. "Eh, I didn't feel like cookin' up anything better. Besides now Carly's buying me a replacement sandwich."

"But you never had a sandwich that needed replacing." A grin was making its way across his face. She breathed an accomplished sigh and moseyed on over to the couch, falling back into it and sprawling her limbs out everywhere.

"Exactly. You sure catch on quickly Fredhead."

Slowly Freddie dismounted the stool and followed her lead, taking a seat on the couch cushion furthest from her. "How come you didn't tell Carly?" He asked carefully.

"Cause why worry her over nothing? The Turd situation has been taken care of." Her voice was dripping with a smugly satisfied tone.

"What do you mean, 'taken care of'?" Freddie's eyes widened. "Sam, you didn't—!"

Before he could finish his cracked out theory on what Sam might've done to Turd the said delinquent sat up and lightly slapped him upside the head. "Chill dude, I didn't do anything illegal…" She settled back into the couch cushions, closing her eyes and smiling. "My mom dumped his ass."

His horrified expression morphed into one of excitement. "No way."

"Yup. Last night, right after I left, too - when I got home this morning she was apologizing and everything, it was unreal." Although she was obviously tried to hide her extreme happiness, she was practically glowing with it. Sam put a finger to her chin. "Granted when she was telling me all this she was on her way out to get her belly button pierced, but hey. Turd's out of the picture so she can feel free to continue being as stupid and tacky as she wants."

Freddie rolled his eyes. He would never understand the mystery that was Sam's mother, but at least the woman had done right by her daughter for once. Scooting next to her, he put a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, Sam, that's great."

They were doing that eye contact thing again where they would both just stare without saying anything, trying to figure each other out. This time Sam broke it off with a curt, "yeah, yeah."

She shut her eyelids again, leaving the increasingly nervous kid next to her to ponder his next move. _Alright Freddie_, he mentally prepped himself, _this is the part where you make a move. So do something. Anything._ He made to gradually move his arm around her, but then pulled away at the last second. _Okay, how 'bout we start by saying something._

"Sam?"

"Yep."

He paused for a moment, trying to figure out how to word the same question he'd once posed to Carly a long time ago. It'd been pretty hard and a little embarrassing to ask Carly about the exact status of their relationship; with Sam, it was like taking that feeling and multiplying it by a thousand. She was definitely no Carly—there was that unpredictability factor to consider. Freddie braced himself and continued.

"Um… please don't hurt me for asking you this, but... last night." His sentence fizzled out quite lamely.

She cracked open an eye. "What about it?"

"Y'know," he shrugged awkwardly, "I mean, do you—are we—?"

An amused snort escaped her lips and it shut Freddie up right away. She crossed her arms and shot him an 'are you kidding me' look. "Aw, come on Fredward, you're not really initiating the whole 'what are we' conversation with me, are you?" The insult lost some of its bite due to the wide smile spreading on Sam's face, however he couldn't stop himself from flushing a deep red at the truth in her question; she was probably thinking he was in serious need of a crash course in manliness.

"I—_no_," He tried to sound convincing but her smirk told him she clearly wasn't buying it. She seemed so confident and he felt like such an idiot – how this was possible when a few hours ago they'd been so equally timid and unsure, he had no idea. "…Maybe?" He said a little too desperately.

She didn't respond to that. Sam was just watching him with that infuriating smirk on her face and making his stupid annoying heart beat faster. If he didn't know any better, she appeared to be enjoying the view of him fumbling for the right words. Okay, she totally was.

Freddie had to think quickly. Time for plan B. Did he even have a plan B?

"Uhm, just, forget I said anything. But maybe we could hang out later or something?"

"What do you think this is?" She scoffed, motioning around them. His face deadpanned; he was starting to get really frustrated and she wasn't giving him an inch. This wasn't supposed to turn into argument—at least not how he pictured things going in his head—but of course, this was Sam he was dealing with.

He backtracked. "_Look_, I just thought that after everything yesterday—or technically today I guess, whatever—we could start, I duno, spending some more time together. I mean obviously we both," he swallowed, very aware he was rambling, "I mean, there's something there, it's not just me, right?"

Freddie cut himself off there and looked hopefully at Sam. At first she just blinked at him and he couldn't tell _what_ she was thinking.

Then she started to giggle. And not just a little bit—_no_, no no—Sam was straight up laughing at him.

The half-smile he had worn during his "speech" dropped. For that split second in time, Freddie got a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach that everything that had happened between them was all some _sick_ joke on Sam's part. He sucked in a shaky breath and attempted to subtly shift away from her, fighting to save the smidge of pride he had left.

_Wow_. Freddie inwardly cursed himself. He really was the most gullible idiot on the planet.

The worst part was that he fell for it _completely_… feelings for Sam and all.

Suddenly Sam's hands were on his shoulders and she was lightly shaking him, momentarily snapping him out of his self-deprecating haze and forcing him to look at her again.

"Yo. Freddie. I know what you're thinking so quit it." Now he was confused; he must have looked it because Sam let out a frustrated sigh. "Hey, I'm new at this too, okay? I mean I'm still surprised that you actually… just… breathe, dude. It's all good."

"Um. Okay…" He raised an eyebrow. She gave him another shake.

"C'mon, jumping right into stuff isn't really our style anyway, right? Just go with the flow. Y'know." Her tone was so perfectly nonchalant, her demeanor calm as ever. "…Baby steps."

With that Sam returned to her sprawled out position, this time resting her head in the crook of his neck, and proceeded to speculate aloud about what kind of sandwich Carly was going to bring back for her.

It took a second for everything to sink in, but when it did, Freddie relaxed at last. Settling more comfortably back into the couch cushions, he looped an arm behind Sam's head and let himself enjoy the moment, _without_ over thinking it this time. It was still new and different, being this close to her, but devoid of the periods of awkward that seemed to pop up every minute the night before.

All the stuff he'd just been going on and on about was pretty stupid as he thought about it. Things made more sense this way – no epic proclamations of love or even like, not even a 'will you go out with me'… nothing. They just kind of fell together. It worked.

When they heard the elevator ding signifying Carly's return, the odd couple flew apart to a more platonic position, and just like that things returned to pretty-much normal. Besides Freddie being more, well, _aware_ of the blonde in the room (random bouts of erratic heartbeat, subtle intervals of prolonged eye contact, higher frequency of playful banter), the trio's dynamic was the same as it always was. The three friends discussed upcoming iCarly bits, made fun of the Dingo channel, and joked about bacon. Sam was still abrasive and obnoxious and Freddie was still a giant nerd.

It was only during school on Monday, when Sam yanked him into a maintenance closet after 5th period, that Freddie understood _exactly_ what Sam meant by 'baby steps.'

Oh, he could most definitely get used to this. He grinned against her lips, feeling Sam grin back. Thank-you, Turd.

* * *

**The end : )**

**Haha, take that Ted the turd. I love how over the course of this whole story, Sam only called Freddie 'Freddie' once. Ehehhhhhh.**

**Hope you enjoyed! Review if you're awesome! **

**til next time lovelies**

**-lime**


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